1:15
by eridani
Summary: One-shot episode tag for And Then I Fell In Love. Harry gets a call in the middle of the night.
The alarm clock is casting a faint red glow around his bedroom when the vibration of his phone wakes him.

It's 1:15.

Harry lurches out of sleep and scrambles for the device thinking it must be the Met calling him out to a crime scene, before he remembers that Leo is the one on call tonight.

The phone is in his hand and it is Nikki's number lighting up the screen. Middle of the night phone calls are usually ominous so he's quick to answer.

'Nikki?'

'Harry- ' she sounds surprised, which confuses the hell out of him. 'I didn't really expect you to pick up.'

He scrubs his hand over his face as if he could physically remove the sleepiness from his being. They both know answering phone calls at ungodly hours is part of their job, so he has no idea why she would think that.

'Is everything alright?'

'Oh, you know, can't sleep.' He hears her sigh across the connection. 'I'm fine. Really, Harry, I'm sorry I woke you up. I shouldn't have called.'

He can picture the hollow expression she gets when she is mentally picking herself up, putting herself back together and preparing to soldier on through something. The thought of her sitting on her own in the small hours of the morning going through that makes his chest twinge. He rolls on to his back and settles in to his pillows for the forthcoming conversation.

'No, no, it's ok. I don't think you called me at one o'clock in the morning for a lark. What's going on?'

There's an inhalation followed by a pause and he waits for her to figure out her words.

'I can't stop thinking about Shannon Kelly. Did I push her too hard? Was there anything we could have done differently?' she says quietly.

His first instinct is to simply reassure her they did everything they could have, that they were simply doing their jobs. But it hasn't escaped either of their notice that Nikki had become a bit more embroiled in the case than a Home Office pathologist strictly should have and she deserves a more careful answer.

'Shannon Kelly didn't die because you wanted to help her, Nikki.'

'I can't help thinking I should never have questioned her, pushed her to remember things she wanted to forget. I know I'm not the one that harmed her, but what if it was the nudge, the remembering, that made up her mind? I was so desperate to find out what she knew - don't think I was even particularly kind when I spoke to her.'

'Someone had to ask Shannon those questions, and it was always going to be hard for her no matter how caring or kind. As soon as we reported our findings, the police would have been down there asking the exact same questions, because they must - it's an unavoidable part of the investigation.'

'But they have professionals trained in this kind of thing, who know how to deal with traumatised teenage girls.'

'I don't think any amount of training can undo the kind of trauma inflicted on those girls, Nikki.'

'I know, but-'

Harry cuts her off.

'You were fine - I'd say firm, but kind. And at least she knew you, she had sought out your help before. Who knows how she might have reacted had she been confronted by a DI she'd never met, telling her they knew the things that had been done to her.'

'I just wish there could have been something to stop it - to stop her from...' Despite being professionally comfortable with death, it's difficult to verbalise and the words eek out of her, 'to stop her from hanging herself.'

'I know,' Harry soothes. 'But don't confuse sorrow and sympathy with guilt. You feel this way because it's a tragic end to a young girl's life, not because you played any consequential role in the outcome. Hate the ones who groomed her, took her away from her family and used her. Don't castigate yourself for things that are out of your control. All you did was care enough to want to help her.'

Nikki sniffs quietly over the line. 'Thank you. I think I needed to hear that.'

Harry is nonchalant. 'It's fine. You've had a hard week.'

'Sometimes- ' she breaks off and tries again. 'You know when you know something, know it rationally, but you need to hear it from somebody else before you can start to believe it?'

'Yes,' he smiles against the phone and jokes, 'I've had the pleasure of playing voice-of-reason to your moments of flighty irrationality before.'

Her small laugh echoes warmly against his ear.

'But, yes, I do know what you mean.' Harry contemplates his workload over the next two days and decides to make an offer. 'Do you know when Shannon's funeral service is going to be held?'

'Thursday at 2:00.'

'Would you like me to come with you?'

'I wasn't sure if I should go. I'm not a friend or family.'

'No, but her mother knows you helped Shannon when she needed it. I don't think your presence would be unwelcome. And I think maybe you should go for your own sake. Closure and such.'

'Maybe I should,' she murmurs.

Harry hates funerals. They remind him of the confused eleven-year-old boy that watched his father laid to rest after he took a gun to his own head and lived with his mother's misery. But he'll go to this one with Nikki.

'We can take flowers, be unobtrusive, sit at the back. They'll talk about her life before she became a victim of crime and all the things she was good at and loved.'

'That's really lovely of you, Harry. We'll go.' She waits a beat to let the sincerity sink in before she mocks him playfully. 'Since when did you become so thoughtful?'

He gives a slightly embarrassed chuckle.

'Do you think you'll be able to sleep?' he asks, as he rearranges his duvet and stifles a yawn.

'Probably.'

The rustle of bedding moving around carries through the phone and hopes that she will be able to get some rest.

'Pillows plumped? Best bed socks on?'

'Yes, Harry,' she replies with a little laugh. 'I miss you. It was nice having you here.'

It feels like the dynamic between them has shifted since he stayed at her flat. They're occupying a threshold - going to where, he's not totally certain - but now she says things like that and they don't rattle him the way they used to. He no longer worries that the sky might fall in if one of them crosses over that invisible line into feelings that would be better off left unsaid.

The fact that it's the middle of the night and he is hanging on to wakefulness by a thread makes him disinclined to over-analyse her words, too.

'It was nice being there.'

'I really am sorry I woke you.'

'Forget it. I'm glad it was you and not a call out.'

'I'll pick up a coffee for you on the way into the office to make up for it.'

'Double espresso, no sugar.'

He's given up on keeping his eyes open and knows he's likely to nod off mid-conversation soon. He is gratified to realise her voice has a muffled sleepy quality to it as well.

'Of course. Do I ever get your coffee wrong?'

'There's always a first time. Can I get a bagel too?'

'Now you're really pushing your luck. Salmon and cream cheese?'

'Ladies' choice,' he says, as he wonders if she'll remember any of this at 8:00 am. His last waking thought is that she's not renowned for her morning organisation. 'Goodnight, Nikki.'

'Night, Harry.'


End file.
